


my pain fits in the palm of your freezing hand

by k0skareeves



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Christmas, Christmas Fluff, F/M, Grief/Mourning, Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, Light Angst, POV Jon Snow, References to Depression, Romance, Sexual Content, Suicidal Thoughts, somewhat self indulgent but im allowed to do that i think
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-13
Updated: 2020-12-13
Packaged: 2021-03-10 20:21:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,464
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28053105
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/k0skareeves/pseuds/k0skareeves
Summary: The corner of her mouth lifts just a smidge. "Thanks.""For what?""For not saying anything during dinner. For not telling anyone."His hand moves on its own accord, finding hers placed on the countertop. She's warm and soft where he's cold and harsh. This is how it’s always been.Jon & Sansa, and the shattering of the wall that once existed between them. A Holiday fic.
Relationships: Jon Snow/Sansa Stark
Comments: 33
Kudos: 132





	my pain fits in the palm of your freezing hand

**Author's Note:**

  * For [willowycreature](https://archiveofourown.org/users/willowycreature/gifts).



> thank you taylor swift for releasing evermore and giving me inspiration to write again. the title of this fic is from the song "ivy", and i definetly recommend you listen to the whole album. also, this is mani's christmas present, because i love her and she's been here since day one. thank you for being you <3

Jon doesn't mean to find the list.

It's a crumpled piece of paper near the trashcan in the guest room and he really doesn't mean to find it. He came in here to get a clean sweater because Rickon spilled eggnog all over him and now he's staring at a crumpled piece of paper on the floor.

He doesn't mean to pick it up or even open it, but the paper is a soft shade of lilac and he can spot Sansa's handwriting on a small piece and well, you can't blame a man for being curious.

**_Cons_ **

**_\- Mom would be sad_ **

**_\- Jeyne can't afford rent alone_ **

**_\- I wouldn't get to watch Kitty grow up_ **

**_Pros_ **

**_\- No more pain_ **

It takes him a moment to understand. You can't blame him for that either, because although Jon's no stranger to sadness, he's never had to deal with this specific kind. This kind that shatters you from within for no reason at all. This kind that makes you contemplate hurting yourself only so you won't have to feel the unbearable weight of such sadness anymore. He's no stranger to loss or grief, but fortunately for him, his brain is wired differently and he just never felt this exact type of sadness that is written all over the list. So it takes him a few seconds, but it finally clicks. It clicks and the thought scares him, because here's a list of pros and cons from a person he's known his whole life, and the thought of losing her wrecks him so much he has to hold on to the dresser with his free hand just so that he can steady himself. He stands there, not sure of how much time has passed, eyes locked on that list of reasons, so shaken that he doesn't notice the steps on the hallway or the knock on the half opened door.

It's the sound of her voice that brings him back to it.

"Jon?"

He turns to face her. She's standing there as if nothing is wrong, wearing a plain white sweater and blue jeans, her hair down and shining from all the sun she gets down south. This is her room now, where she's staying during the holidays at her mother's house, and he was only supposed to be in here for a few seconds. He just needed a clean sweater, and Catelyn told him to grab one from the third drawer in the guest room's dresser but time has seemed to slip away because he can smell the food and hear the noise coming from downstairs which means that dinner must be served and that's why she came up here, to check on what was taking him so long. And she looks just as lovely as she did during the whole night, except now her blue eyes are staring down at his hands and the piece of lilac paper that he's holding and he can clearly see how her pupils are blow wide and her breathing is getting a little short and before he realizes it he's taken three steps forward, body only inches away from her, and his voice is trembling when he asks.

"What is this?

It doesn't make a lot of sense but he needs to hear her say it. He needs to hear her voice and see her lips move to form the words echoing in his brain. He doesn't know why he's expecting her to reply or to even be honest with him like this. They don't do that. That's not the relationship they have, that's not them. Arya would tell him if she ever had these thoughts, but not Sansa. They're not close enough for this, always too much tension and not enough intimacy between them to make things work the way they were supposed to work. All the Starks are siblings to him, they're family, but Sansa is just…

"Sansa."

He says her name again and she looks up, blue eyes locking on his now instead of the paper in his hand. It's easy to tell she's upset. Her eyes are watery and her cheeks are flushed and she looks like she could run away at any moment. She looks like she could slap him too, with the anger that he sees surging on her face. She chooses to do neither, grabbing the paper from his hand instead, bumping her shoulder against his while she moves to stand in front of the trash can.

"It's rude to go through people's things, you know?" 

Her voice is low and harsh. Her hands begin to tore the paper into small pieces, until it's nothing but small shredded bits and she tosses them down with force.

"Sansa." He says her name again because what else is he supposed to say? 

"What, Jon?"

"What was that?"

She shuts her eyes, her hand coming to pinch the bridge of her nose. "Nothing, it wasn't anything."

He takes a step towards her, and when she flinches he stops. Her breathing is heavy and he doesn't know what to say. What should he say? What do you say when something like this happens? He doesn't know.

"Sansa-"

"It's none of your business, okay? We need to get downstairs, dinner is ready."

Eyes cast down, she moves past him again, and his hand finds her wrist. He's not holding her strong enough but she still stops so that must be a good sign, or at least he thinks it is. She still won't look at him, body turned towards the door, and he slides his fingers down, attempting to take her hand.

She lets him.

They stay quiet for a while. Jon can feel her take a few shaky breaths, but he doesn't dare to say another word. He just holds her hand, holds  _ her, _ and waits, until her breathing evens out, and he sees her lift up her shaking fingers to her face.

"I'm fine."

Her voice is quiet, small. He doesn't reply, just squeezes her hand a little tighter, and she squeezes back, only to let go completely the next moment and walk out of the room. He lets her, because he knows she's going downstairs for dinner, and he needs to change his sweater, and the wall there once existed between the two of them seems to be gone now, so there'll be time to talk later.

Jon doesn't mean to find the list but he's glad he does. He looks at the shattered pieces in the trashcan and thinks about her eyes. And the thought of never seeing that shade of blue again makes him sick on his stomach.

He changes sweaters and goes downstairs.

* * *

He keeps his eyes on her all throughout dinner.

Jon does so in a very discreet way, but he thinks Arya notices because she kicks him once under the table, and it hurts like a bitch, which results in him kicking her back. It's silly to think that despite being twenty seven, he can still feel like such a kid whenever he comes to Christmas with the Starks. He is a permanent part of the family by now, and although this is not the house they all grew up in, it still feels like home to him, because they're here, and they're his people.

And you have to protect your people, to take care of them, make sure they're okay.

Which is why he lingers in the kitchen after dinner. He doesn't particularly like doing the dishes but that's where she'll be once she's done playing with her niece and Robb finally goes home. Her mother is already asleep on her chair from the night pills and the wine, blissfully unaware of Arya's choice of movie on the TV, and the house begins to quiet down after Rickon and Bran go to their rooms. Which is why this time he hears as she comes in the kitchen, her ankle boots echoing softly on the tile floor.

"You don't have to do that, you know?"

"I don't mind."

That's a lie. He knows she knows it, but she doesn't say anything, only starts drying the plates he's washing and putting them away. Silence reigns again as they work, the low sounds of a horror movie coming from the living room making this all very anticlimactic but also quite familiar to their usual Christmas together.

"I started taking medication a few months ago."

He watches as the cold water goes down the drain, taking away the dirt and soap. Catelyn doesn't like it when the dishes are washed with hot water, worried that the painting on the plates might wear off and now his hands are cold.

"That's good."

A small sigh escapes her and he wonders if it's from relief. He still doesn't dare to look up, even though by now all the plates are clean, the pots rinsed, the glasses dry. He just waits, holding his breath the entire time.

When she starts speaking again her voice is small but fast, as if she's scared she won't be able to say it all if she doesn't say it at once. "I'm also in therapy, just so you know. Once a week, apart from now, because of the holidays. And it's helping, it really is. Things just get...hard, sometimes. That's why I went to the doctor in the first place. But they know I'm struggling, I'm not keeping anything from them, my therapist and my doctor I mean, and I'm taking my meds the way I'm supposed to."

"Do they know about the list?"

Silence. Jon finally lifts his eyes to her, watches her twisting a fancy napkin in her hands. "Cause I think they should know, if you haven't told them yet."

"It was nothing."

"It wasn't nothing, Sans."

She looks up at him at the mention of her name and he wonders if she knows that he means it. He wonders if she knows that he sees her, and that he's trying his best here but this is all very new to him, and that he's scared that he might fuck it up somehow.

The corner of her mouth lifts just a smidge. "Thanks."

"For what?"

"For not saying anything during dinner. For not telling anyone."

His hand moves on its own accord, finding hers placed on the countertop. She's warm and soft where he's cold and harsh. This is how it’s always been. "It's not my place to tell, Sans."

She nods once, doesn't say anything else. The air seems to shift around them, the kitchen feels smaller and hotter and maybe he's not thinking straight right now but he needs to do better for her, and this feels like a good time for a smoke.

"You want one?" He asks, leaving her hand to take the pack from his pocket. She looks at it greedly, then looks back at him.

"Mom would kill me."

He chuckles. "You know I've seen you smoking on your snapchat, right?"

She rolls her eyes at him, but she's still smiling, and that's what makes him walk towards the backyard door, holding it open for her, the cold air not the only thing making him shiver.

"Come on."

He extends his hand, daring and hopeful.

She takes it.

* * *

They end up sharing a cigarette somehow.

Never mind that he has a half full pack in his pocket. She's the one who asks for the smoke between his lips and he doesn't mind one bit because it gives him an excuse to keep touching her hand.

He finds it that he now has a need to make sure she's really there, and touching her seems to be a good way of doing so.

It snowed earlier today and they don't have their coats with them, because he wasn't really thinking when he asked her to come outside. He hardly ever smokes when he's with the Starks, because Catelyn disapproves of it, and he doesn't like to upset her. She's already been through a lot. But it just seemed like a good idea to get Sansa out of the house for a while, and to keep her close to him, because he'd be lying if he said he's not worried about her after what he found.

"It's not like I would ever do it. I just think about it sometimes."

She blows away the smoke and passes him the cigarette, her eyes on the dark sky. The clouds have cleared out and there's a few stars visible, the moon just a shadow of a smile, but other than that they're in the dark. He takes a drag of his own, blows it away from her face before speaking.

"Why the list, then?"

He doesn’t mean to ask it and he regrets it the moment the words come out, because he sounds angry and hurt and maybe he is all those things right now, but this is not about him. This is about her, and her pain, her loss, her feelings. It’s about her and he’s desperate to make it better somehow.

It takes her a moment but she answers. "My thoughts can be very loud."

They should go back inside. It's freezing, and he can see her starting to shake a little.

"It was a very short list of cons," his voice sounds off to his ears, "for someone who says they wouldn't do it."

She blows a puff of steam, looking like a child for a moment with her bottom lip sticking out. He wants to laugh, he also wants to wrap his arms around her and keep her there, safe.

He chooses silence because it seems to be working better so far.

"Mom is the main reason. I don't want to put her through anymore heartbreak. But everyone else would be fine, I think."

"That's not true, Sans."

"It might not be but that's how I feel. I can't explain it to you, it's just how it feels.” She draws a half circle in the snow with her foot, eyes cast down. “Heavy and alone."

"Well, you're not. You’re not alone. I can’t speak for everything else but this much is true."

She glances back at him for a moment with a half smile, extends her hand for the cigarette. He takes another long drag before giving it to her, holds the smoke in his lungs until it burns, until he absolutely needs to breathe again.

"You should add  _ 'Jon Snow would be shattered'  _ to the list."

He hears her chuckle. It's a sad sound. "You don't have to say that."

"I mean it."

He does. How could he not mean it, when she means what she means to him? How could he think he would ever be fine if he lost her, especially like this?

When he looks at her she's already watching him. "I do mean it, Sans."

"Why?"

"Because I'd miss you too much."

He's not sure how it happens but they're standing very close. Maybe it's the cold that makes their bodies long for each other, maybe it's him trying to make sure she is here after all, trying to keep her here with him.

"Why?"

"Isn't it obvious?"

Their breaths are mixing, puffs of hot steam blowing a little heat on their faces, and he can smell her lavender perfume mixed with the smoke.

"Not really. I don’t know if you notice but you're usually cold. At least to me."

The unfinished cigarette lies forgotten in the snow. His hand finds hers again, freezing fingers tied together. His palm reaches up to her cheek, thumb brushing her lips before he kisses her, slow and deliberate, fingers moving to tangle in her hair, their hands still locked together.

He whispers against her mouth. "How's that for warmth?"

"It's good. I think you should do it again."

He kisses her a second time, careful not to push her, careful not to show how much this means to him when he knows she's fragile, when he knows this needs to be her choice. He breaks the kiss to catch his breath and she whines, a shiver going through her.

"Don't stop."

"You're shaking, Sans."

"It's winter."

Her hand squeezes his and her eyes have a little plea in them and maybe this isn't the best idea but he can't seem to find a good enough reason to let her go.

"Upstairs?"

She doesn't answer, just gives him a quick peck on the lips, and turns to lead them back into the house, their fingers still intertwined.

Jon has no intention of letting go.

* * *

A sleeping Arya is on the couch next to her mother's chair. There's shouting coming from Rickon's room, followed by the sound of explosions, and Bran's night lamp shines under his door. Jon pays attention to all these things because they're familiar, and yet it's been a while since he's got to see them.

Sansa keeps leading the way, and he just watches her auburn hair moving with her steps, each of them taking them closer to the guest room.

A window was left open and that's when he drops her hand, only because he absolutely has to. The cold glass seems to give him some clearance because he turns, leaning against the window to watch her standing in the middle of the room, arms hugging herself. She looks small for a moment, and his chest aches with the knowledge of the shredded list still sitting in the trash can.

"It scared me to shit when I read that."

She takes a step forward. "I don't want to talk about it."

He walks to her then, because it seems like the right thing to do. And he wants to be near her, he wants to feel her around him, to hold her in his arms. He wants to be here with her, for however long she’ll have him, even if it’s just for tonight.

"What do you want to talk about?"

"I don't want to talk."

Their chests are almost brushing. He places both hands on her cheeks, cradling her face.

"Then what do you want?"

Her hands grasp at the front of his sweater, pulling him to her. Their lips meet, and it's sweet, it's warm, it's better than the first two kisses.

He murmurs against her lips. "Sansa-"

"You. That's what I want right now, you."

"Okay."

He's careful, the thought of messing things up still stuck in his head, the thought of hurting her more than she's already hurting and somehow making everything worse. So he starts slow, but she's soft all over and his palms long to feel every inch of her skin, and soon there's not really a coherent thought going through his brain, there's only  _ her, _ and the purple kisses his mouth leave on her neck, the scratches his beard leaves on her thighs, the shivers and shakes and trembles that her body does under his touch. The first time she comes is too loud and that would make him worry if her fingers weren't so tightly grasping his curls. He mutters curses on the cradle of her neck when he enters her and she holds him, arms and legs wrapped around him while he moves. The second time she comes he's ready to catch her lips with a kiss, muffling her cries while he tastes her, his release hitting him moments after, shattering him to the bones while he does his best not to crush her under his weight.

They lay together after, her head resting on his chest, silence once again present. He has no idea of how much time has passed, aware that his car is still on the driveway and that's not how things usually go during Christmas, but she's resting peacefully next to him and it feels warm and safe under the covers, so he doesn't dare to move.

He doesn't want to leave her either.

"I'll tell them about the list," she mutters against his chest, lips brushing his skin. "And I'll tell them about you too, if you don't mind."

He feels like he can breathe again.

"I don't."

She lifts her head to look at him, chin pressed down on his shoulder. "Yeah?"

"Yeah." He smiles, brushing a strand of hair away from her eyes. "This is a good thing. Right?"

He sure hopes so. He sure hopes that she knows now just how far he's willing to go for her, and that he'll have her back if she needs him to, that he'll have her completely if she wants.

"Right."

A smile. Then her head is back on his chest, eyes closed and breathing even, and his fingers thread through her hair while their hands lay intertwined over his heart.

**Author's Note:**

> thank you guys so much for reading! i'm slowly getting back into writing and reading fics. things were hard for these past three months but i'm doing a lot better now, and i want to thank you all for the constat support and for not giving up on me while i was away. your kudos and comments mean the world to me, and i'm very grateful for each and every single one of you <3


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